14th June
I arose around 6am and made my way up to the roof for another look at Tamalout. The air was crystal clear and I could see a few huddled bodies still asleep on adjoining roofs. Abdul Jaleel was curled up around the corner wrapped in blankets - having spent the night under the stars. I wished that I had slept up here too but I was too full of 'bug paranoia' to risk it myself. We breakfasted at 7am on brown bread , honey and freshly made butter - Nice! - then suited up and off steeply up the piste to the top of the mountain , stopping to take several photo's of the enchanted valley below. I make a promise to myself to return here one day.
Paul on the ridge overlooking Tamalout
Over the top of the mountain the piste descends into the opposite valley on a wide and fast gravely piste , through a series of switchback hairpin bends and long straight sections - very pebbly in certain parts so have to keep really aware of what lies ahead of us. The boys follow on behind in the Toyota. Eventually we reach the plain at the bottom which has wide, long sandy trails interspersed with occasional hard rocky sections. Yet again I let Pete and Paul blast off into the distance leaving massive trails of dust behind them. The valley floor is barren with no real vegetation to speak of but nevertheless the scenery is still fantastic impressing me with its immense size and feeling of desolation as we leave the range of mountains behind us. After several miles on the piste I rejoin the others at the junction with a tarmac road - we carry on through several towns and villages with people and children waving and smiling. After countless miles of 'road work' we arrive at Boumalne - a large town with signs of lots of trading going on - a real change from the villages we passed yesterday. After filling up with petrol we head off towards the mountains with stunning villages and Kasbahs every mile or two on each side of the road. Reaching the mountain range we climb quickly to look down on our next valley - this time verdant green with palmeries and crops. Dropping down to the other side we ride along this lush and verdant plain, eventually reaching the mountains which are at the start of the Todra Gorge. We enter the gorge crossing a flowing river to a hotel cut into the mountainside where we seek some shade and a series welcoming soft drinks. Pete points out the spring bubbling out from under the ground next to the hotel - this is the source of the river we saw further down the valley and the lush vegetation all gets water from this insubstantial looking source.
Start of the Todra Gorge
The boys arrive in the Toyota but quickly leave to head on up the gorge before us - to our lunch stop at the head of the gorge. We mount up and head on up the pass which surprises me with the rockyness of its surface - sharp angled rocks jutting out of the ground at odd angles keeping your eyes on the piste and not up at the impressive walls that tower up above us on either side. These rocks get the better of Paul and he has a front compression puncture only a couple of km into the gorge. Pete tries the repair aerosol but obviously the tube was well ripped so Peter rides Pauls bike up the gorge the 15km or so up to Tamtattoucht. I am impressed with Peters handling of the bike - with a completely flat front tyre and he only comes off once on a sharp sandy bend but is OK to carry onwards and eventually upwards. Paul and I let Peter get ahead of us and we 'leap frog' each other to stop and take some action shots. At the end of the gorge we climb up to our planned stop at the Auberge Baddou where Pete and the boys are waiting for us - we all sit in a beddouin style tent and lunch magnificently on a communal Berber ommlette, fresh bread and yoghurt. Paul and I strip off and hang our clothes out to dry in the fierce afternoon sun whilst Pete and the boys go fix the puncture. At this point an irate German couple arrive in their 4X4 shouting and cursing at the owner of the Auberge - accusing him of selling them an inaccurate map of the trails out of here. The owner in turn accuses the local village children of misdirecting the couple, Pete, the diplomat, steps in and offers to send Abdul Jaleel to the correct turning - to put them on the right track. The situation is diffused and Paul and I return to the tent for a much needed lie down. We set off passing several villages and Yes! the children point off the piste - presumably to lead us into their villages for god only knows what reason? We descend to a flat plain and blast on for miles on sandy , sometimes stony piste until again we reach another range of mountains. We climb a torturous track winding steeply up the mountainside - the surface becomes really difficult in places with sharp protruding rocks angled all over the place, this reminds me of trails in the Lake district - we are surprised to come across an old truck laden with people on its roof and wonder how the hell they are going to get to the top - its difficult enough for us on modern bikes with excellent suspension but this truck looks like its been left over from world war 2.
truck - top at last
The piste changes nearer the top to pebbles and sand and as we rise over the crest we are all pleased to stop at a tiny earthen shack where we find its owner and local shepherd drinking bottles of Fanta. This shack is in effect a cafe in the middle of nowhere - it can't get many customers , maybe that's why the owner comes over to greet us - pulls out some plastic chairs and bids us to sit down for refreshing drinks. The boys soon arrive - they too have overtaken the truck coming up the mountainside. We all sit and wait expectantly to see if the truck makes it - of course it does and as it stops for a breather at the top we see that inside the truck it is full of live sheep - they must have had a worse trip up here than the people clinging on to the roof - poor things! but hey! they will probably end up in a tagine anyway.
Cafe at the top of the mountain
More photo's and we blast off down the other side of the range with a massive canyon to our left resembling the Grand Canyon in the shape of its sides and lit magnificently by the afternoon sun and clear mountain air. Yet again we reach a plain at the bottom and make good speed meandering in and out of dried up stream beds - I lose sight completely of the others and can't even see their dust trails in the distance - I hope that I'm on the right trail as I can't see their tyre marks on the hard packed surface. Suddenly the valley floor greens up and I pass women working in fields of wheat - sometimes only their heads and shoulders visible above the lush crops , some are bent double carrying heavy burdens on their backs - heck! the women really work hard in this culture. Again children run towards the piste waving and shouting and eventually I see two yellow specks in the centre of a village in the distance. I'm relieved to find that its Pete and Paul waiting for me surrounded by crowds of children. As we carry on the children in the villages we pass make throttle twisting gestures at us and we oblige by doing a few jumps and wheelies for them which pleases them immensely. I wonder if a rally passes this way as its the first time we've seen the children make these gestures , usually they wave at us quite normally. We start to enter a section where a new road is being built and experience our first mud , and puddles of shallow water - the piste turns to tarmac and we race on the 20km or so to Imilchil - our stopping place for the night. Our accommodation is a beautiful modern Kasbah style building with all mod cons - this is situated next to the main road although we see few if any vehicles on this road, only a steady procession of mules, sheep and goats being led down from the mountains. We are greeted with mint tea and a plate of delicious almonds and sit outside to wait for the boys who soon arrive with our luggage and join us for refreshments. We all set off a km or 2 up the valley to a lake called Islee where Moustafa is going to show us how to fish - Moroccan style. The lake is a beautiful clear blue and set in an idyllic location, Moustafa brings out a length of twine tied around a plastic water bottle, ties a spark plug on the end for a weight, baits up a hook with a lump of dough and swinging the weight - lasso style - lets go and the spark plug flies off burying itself deep into the sand only feet from where we are sitting. Paul and I retreat further back to safety - this time its a successful throw and we all sit back in the evening sun , relax for a half an hour or so and watch for a bite. Not a chance! - so the boys promise to come back early in the morning for another try and we all head back to the Kasbah Adrar for hot showers and a hearty evening meal.
View from Kasbah Adrar - Imilchil
Imilchil is the site for the annual Berber 'Brides festival' which takes place in late September. This religious festival or 'Moussem' is famous all over the world as the largest of its kind and is where boys and girls , under parental control , get together - with marriage as the eventual result. An old Berber legend tells the story of how this area came to be chosen - linked to the formation of lake Islee. Briefly - an important Berber man fell madly in love with one of his beautiful daughters and asked the elders permission to marry her. He was refused permission and cried for endless days - his tears filling and forming lake Islee. Thanks to Sami in Ouarzazate for telling me the complete story.
Mileage: 115km piste / 115km tarmac